Prince of nothing

Morning arrived in the Avalon Empire, and the Hall of Flames buzzed with its usual commotion—the chatter of servants, the rhythmic clash of swords from training Dragon Knights, and the hum of activity that signaled the start of the day.

Through the winding corridors of the Elysium Quarters, Zal Von Drakon dashed forward, his breaths uneven as he pushed himself toward the distant floating isle.

"Damn it! Of all days to oversleep… Today, I have to stand in front of the Drakon heirs and the noble houses. Another chance for them to remind me I don't belong."

In his frantic rush, he collided with a passing servant, sending a tray of steaming tea splashing onto his white and silver robes.

"Clumsy as always, Prince Zal."

The servant barely spared him a glance, instead focusing on cleaning the spilled mess, his indifference making it clear—even with a prince's title, Zal commanded little respect.

Shaking off the humiliation, Zal finally reached the massive bridge that connected the main yard to the Hall of Flames, an opulent structure built from gold and obsidian, perched atop a floating island. The bridge itself was a marvel, suspended in the air by colossal iron chains.

"Argh… just perfect."

Tilting his head upward, he sighed at the exhausting distance ahead. Adjusting the wooden sword strapped to his waist, he forced himself forward, his legs screamed in protest, every step like wading through sinking sand. His chest burned, and black spots danced at the edges of his vision.

Physically weak, his skin was pale, lips dry, and dark shadows clung under his sunken eyes. Unlike the other heirs—strong, radiant, full of vitality—Zal's body was frail, bony, and malnourished, his health a constant battle.

"Hatchu!"

A sudden cough tore from his throat, his chest tightening as he gasped for air. After barely five steps, he was already panting, his energy depleted.

"This… again… another cold? I can't even breathe properly. At this rate, I'll just end up collapsing and stepmother Elira will punish me again… probably have me wash the horses. Maybe I should just give up."

He turned, prepared to sit and catch his breath—until something in the courtyard below caught his eye.

A golden carriage rolled gracefully into the estate's entrance, its elaborate insignia unmistakable.

"That sigil… the Pen Dragon House."

Zal watched as the carriage door opened, and a striking young man stepped out, clad in splendid golden armor with intricate white accents. A beautifully crafted blue wooden sword rested in his left hand—far superior to the plain, worn weapon Zal carried at his hip.

Zal's tired eyes flickered with admiration. The name slipped from his lips before he even realized—

"Ace… Ace Pen Dragon."

The Pen Dragon heir was the very image of nobility—flawless, refined. His silky, fair complexion, deep blue eyes, and long blond hair that cascaded down his back made him the ideal nobleman. Among both highborn ladies and commoners alike, he was revered—the perfect new generation noble born from the house of Knights.

Zal scoffed.

"Tch, he can act all strict and disciplined, but he's still not the one I'm waiting for."

Before he could finish his thought, another presence emerged from the carriage—a slender, delicate hand extending from beneath the blue veil. Ace, ever the gentleman, turned and helped his sister descend.

Zal's breath caught.

"Miss Selene Pen Dragon."

Her name left his lips in a quiet murmur, almost involuntary.

With golden hair cascading in soft waves, striking blue eyes, and an air of gentle grace, Selene Pen Dragon looked almost unreal—as if a goddess had stepped down from the heavens.

For a brief moment, Zal was lost in his own fantasy.

"Like a celestial being descended from the sky…"

He quickly snapped himself out of it, pinching his own cheek hard enough to redden the skin.

"Zal, get a grip! She's way out of your league. Look at yourself—why would she even notice you?"

Straightening his posture, he frantically dusted off his robes, doing his best to appear at least somewhat presentable before the two esteemed heirs crossed the bridge near him.

But then—

"Seriously?!"

His frustrated outburst startled the nearby servants, causing several to glance his way. The knights passing by merely shook their heads in disapproval, their expressions making their opinions clear—disgraceful.

Zal ignored them. His attention was now on the deep red stain marking his clothes—the aftermath of the spilled tea.

"What a mess… How am I supposed to attend the meeting like this? This is humiliating! I need to change… but—"

His gaze shifted downward, eyeing the five steps he had struggled to climb.

His face paled...

Five steps might as well have been a hundred for him. Yet, rather than arrive at the council in such a disgraceful state, he would rather endure the struggle.

Before he could even take a step, a familiar, gentle voice called out to him, making his entire body stiffen. Cold sweat trickled down his pale brown face.

'What the… How did they get here so fast?'

Before him stood Ace and Selene, already at his level. It had only taken them a few seconds to reach the bridge, while for Zal, the same distance from the Keep's courtyard would take minutes due to his weak stamina. But for others, such a feat was nothing.

Zal awkwardly scratched his head and quickly turned away, trying to hide the red stains on his clothes.

"Ace…"

Zal mumbled, stepping back slightly every time they drew closer.

Ace inclined his head slightly.

"Prince Zal… greetings. I assume you're also heading to the council of heirs?"

Zal nodded, doing everything in his power to keep his distance from the two Pendragons. But something about Ace's formality irked him. His expression twisted in annoyance before he blurted out,

"Ace! How many times do I have to tell you not to be so formal when we're alone?!"

The sudden outburst made Ace smile—just briefly—before his face returned to its usual composed and distant expression.

"So… is this why you've been trying to run from us?"

Ace asked, his eyes shifting toward the red stains on Zal's robes.

'...Crap… I forgot about that. This cunning bastard—now I'm done for. My last hope has completely shattered before Miss Selene.'

Both Zal and Ace exchanged funny glances before Ace sighed and looked away in disappointment, a gesture that wounded Zal's last shred of dignity. They had been best friends since childhood, yet their lives had taken opposite paths—one, a prodigious heir admired by all, and the other, an outcast ridiculed by his own family.

A heavy silence fell between them. Ace was clearly unimpressed with Zal's lack of discipline and appearance, while Zal could only curse his own misfortune.

Then, Selene snapped her fingers. The sharp sound echoed, immediately drawing the attention of both boys.

From behind them, a middle-aged woman stepped forward—Ace and Selene's personal escort and nanny. Though her presence carried an air of authority, it was anything but welcoming.

"My lady..."

The nanny bowed respectfully before the Pen Dragon siblings, completely ignoring Zal, despite him standing right beside them.

"What can I assist you with?"

Ace and Selene exchanged looks. They had both noticed the blatant disregard toward Zal. In the presence of a Drakon-born, who dares to show such disrespect?

...Unless that Drakon was an outcast.

"I'd like you to fix the Prince's clothes"

Selene stated, her tone cold and unwavering.

"With the respect befitting a nobleman—especially a prince of the Empire!."

The severity of her words sent an immediate chill through the nanny, who quickly realized her mistake. Panic flashed across her face as she dropped to one knee, her black gown pooling around her as she lowered her head in reverence.

"Forgive my rudeness, Your Highness!"

She cried, her forehead nearly touching the ground, sweat forming along her temple.

Zal and Ace both looked at Selene, surprised by how quickly the atmosphere had shifted.

'Her words alone carry weight… A true noble, effortlessly commanding respect. But for me? I can't even make a servant hesitate.'

Zal glanced down at the nanny, who remained trembling at his feet. He wasn't used to such treatment—not toward him, at least.

Realizing he should probably respond, Zal forced an awkward smile and scratched the back of his head, unsure of how to handle this unexpected feeling of superiority.

"It's okay, everyone calm down"

He said with a chuckle, trying to ease the tension.

"By the divine teachings of the Church, forgiveness is one of the core values of the Templar faction… So please, rise."

The nanny's eyes widened slightly in shock. A Drakon, despite their pride and stature, actually forgave her? Most noblemen would have punished her harshly for such disrespect.

Selene and Ace both exchanged amused glances, while the nanny—now with a newfound sense of a little spark of respect for the third prince she had disregarded—extended her hand. A warm, misty green light flickered to life around her wrist.

Zal's eyes widened.

'That's… mantra energy...every Rankers internal force...'

Before him, the shimmering energy gathered, materializing into a wand—a Memory. At first, it appeared small, but in seconds, it expanded into a full staff, pulsating with pure mantra energy.

Zal watched, both fascinated and envious.

'Me and my bad luck… For fifteen years, all my siblings and noble peers have been able to sense mantra, circulate energy, and harness supernatural abilities… Yet here I am—just a normality among my kind. To them, I'm useless.'

Before he could spiral further into self-pity, he felt something warm wrap around his torso.

'The stain… it's disappearing.'

Indeed, his robes were glowing with green energy, the red stain unraveling into nothingness as if it had never existed. The nanny stood before him, gracefully channeling energy through her staff to perform her craft.

Zal's gaze flickered toward the shimmering Memory in her hands.

"What you're holding… That staff… It's a—"

"A Memory"

Ace answered calmly with a tight grip on his wooden sword.

"An artifact obtained from the Core of Remembrance of a matured-level Scavenger. It determines a Ranker's class. This one is of the healing element, which is why she can perform such abilities."

Zal understood. As a bookworm, he had studied everything there was to know about mantras, Memories, and the ranking system. But when it came to actually using them… Those were nothing but distant fantasies. Flying, wielding energy, performing supernatural feats—these were privileges of the blessed. Not for a nobody like him.

Before he knew it, his clothes were completely restored, his robe clean and neatly pressed. Zal's eyes lingered on the staff in the nanny's hands until it finally dissolved into nothingness.

"All done. You may return"

Selene instructed, her voice as graceful as ever.

With a final bow, the nanny vanished just as quickly as she had appeared.

"Now… shall we?"

Ace asked, taking the lead.

Selene followed beside him, while Zal trailed behind—each step still an exhausting effort.

Inside the Hall of Flames ...

The grand hall was alive with activity. Laughter and conversation filled the air as nobles sat at their designated tables, while others danced gracefully to the melodic tunes of the orchestra.

The clinking of golden goblets rang through the room as the aroma of spiced meats and luxurious delicacies filled the air.

On the raised dais sat the patriarchs of the noble houses, separated from the rest. The left side housed the half-nobles, while the right side was reserved for the noble children—Drakons and other houses alike.

Each prince and princess radiated an atmosphere of royalty, their very presence exuding the power and prestige of their bloodlines.

But the moment the heavy doors creaked open, the lively chatter died down.

All eyes turned toward the three silhouettes standing at the entrance.

A whisper ran through the crowd.

"By the Divine Gods… It's the Pen Dragons."

Selene's graceful beauty and Ace's striking presence were the very definition of nobility. Yet, the moment the last figure caught up to them—panting, wheezing—everything changed.

From the nobles' table, a young man with long dark hair and piercing golden dragon eyes sighed in disappointment. His brown, sun-kissed skin marked him as one of the Von Drakon bloodline.

Three others behind him shared the same expression, their gazes locking onto one individual with disgust.

Zal...

"I thought he wouldn't come"

One muttered.

"Who invited this trash? Even the servants pity him now. Look at his clothes—does he think wearing clean robes will make him one of us?"

Another scoffed.

"Zal's here to disgrace himself again… I can't wait for the real show to begin once Father arrives."